


mother mary

by dubberclick



Category: IT (2019), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, it's all in richie's pov, prepare for hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 01:24:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20788274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubberclick/pseuds/dubberclick
Summary: Richie's alone.





	mother mary

**Author's Note:**

> i havent even watched pt2 but gay twitter sucked me in, what can i say. i literally thought of this mowing the lawn earlier. i missed writing angst.
> 
> song is promise me by badflower.

"Edward Finley Kapsbrak, will you marry me?" He tossed the ring in the air, watching it shimmer as it fell back into his hands. The question was a mouthful, but he'd been wanting to taste it on his tongue since he was a kid. And  _ God _ , it tasted good.

"Edward Finley Kapsbrak, will you marry me?" He said again, smoothing his thumb over the ring. It was a simple silver band with darker grey borders and illegible scratching on the inside when he'd tried to recreate  _ R + E.  _ He didn't mind the chicken scratch because  _ he _ knew what it was supposed to say. He wore a matching piece on his left ring finger, but he never takes that one off.

"Will you marry me?" He says again, feeling over the inner scratches. Richie lays back on his bed and holds the glinting ring over his face. He's glad he left the window open because he gets to see the different ways it shines in the early morning glows.

It was day five of his requested time off after the final battle and it's been the same ever since. Lazing around, digging up old and newer photos of Eddie, sitting alone in his house. Day one he'd smoked a bowl of his special occasion weed and sat on the dining room floor for seven hours staring at the ceiling. Day two he'd gone and got the rings then promptly cried himself to sleep on the couch holding a framed photo of him and Eddie. Day three and four were a blur, but he remembers scratching unreadable nonsense into the rings and sticking one of them on his finger.

He turned the ring, catching the light on the crude engravings. By putting the scratches on the rings, he diminished the price by at least 40% but he didn't care. They weren't meant for anyone else.

"Edward Finley Kapsbrak, will you dance with me?" He asked the ring. After a longer second, he rolled off the mattress and grabbed the picture frame on his bedside table. He stuck the ring between his teeth and pulled the blanket off his bed with his other hand. He dragged it all the way to the living room, kicked the coffee table over and out of the way with his foot, set the picture and the ring on his fireplace mantle, and pulled out his phone. He pulled up one of the playlists he frequented on depression episodes and let it play next to the ring.

He gathered up the blanket in his fists and began to dance.

_ Promise me we'll never grow up _

_ I don't wanna let go _

_ I wanna stay young _

_ And even when the wrinkles show up, _

_ We'll be laughing, and _

_ We can play forever, don't make me face the truth _

The blanket was a poor partner, but Richie managed not to trip, even when he dipped the limp fabric. He paused after the chorus, taking off his glasses and turning up the music. The vacant hole in his chest opened just a bit wider when he pictured the blanket in his arms as a man.

He danced and danced and it wasn't anything to marvel at. He didn't know any moves or steps, so it would have been mediocre to any outside party. But no one was here. Just a broken, middle aged man seducing his comforter in his living room.

_ Promise me we'll never grow up _

_ I don't wanna fall out _

_ I wanna make love _

_ And even when we can't sew up, _

_ We're together, and _

_ Happy ever after, don't make me face the truth _

He kept glancing at the picture frame, of their smiling faces. He always zeroed in on Eddies', forever captivated by his rare, genuine glee. Even through all the decades of age and wear, he was  _ handsome _ . Richie was lucky he was able to immortalize a moment like that. A moment of true happiness between them and Eddie showed it. He wished he could see Eddie smile like that again. Wished Eddie would touch and hang off him like that again.

Richie danced and danced, even when he couldn't see through the tears.

_ You promised me you'd never grow up _

_ Now I have to let go _

_ God, I miss you so much! _

_ And even when your heart gave out, _

_ I was thinkin' how _

_ I won't say goodbye! _

_ You promised me you'd never grow up _

_ But you fucking grew up _

_ God, I miss you so much! _

_ And even when your heart gave out, _

_ I was thinkin' I'd _

_ Love you till forever, and I can't face the truth _

His arms hurt from holding up the blanket and he was out of breath, but he kept going. He owed Eddie a proper dance after asking for his hand, after all. He moved all around the room, dragging the lifeless blanket with him the whole way. He smiled sometimes and cried through it all.

Time blurred then and song after song told their message. He didn't stop when his arms went numb and didn't stop when his phone died. He owed Eddie a  _ dance _ .

The blanket slipped from his fingers midway through a twirl and Richie laughed through his gasping breaths.

"Alright, alright, Eds. Guess we're both pretty tired, huh?" He hefted his arm up and grabbed the picture, taking it with him as he dropped to the floor. Richie gathered some of the blanket in his arms and tucked the frame to his chest. He promptly passed out when his breathing evened out and the sobbing petered out.

  
  


Richie would lay on the floor hours after he'd wake, staring into nothing. Then, he'd heave himself up, put the picture back on the mantle with the ring propped up on the frame, and check that his own ring was secure on his finger. He'd go smoke the rest of his special occasion weed and drink the rest of his hard liquor stash. He'd lay in the bathtub while he felt nothing and thought of nothing, yet everything.

Richie knew if he follows his therapist's advice, he'd eventually move on and forget. His career would be plucked off the ground and the hole in his chest would gradually close. He'd find someone else and the picture of him and Eddie would be put away in his closet. He'd meet up with the remaining Losers' Club and they'd live happy until they were grey.

Eddie didn't deserve to be forgotten. Richie didn't hold the last of him in his arms to move on. He didn't drink himself stupid after seeing Eddie again to find someone else. Richie didn't  _ want _ to forget. Richie didn't  _ want _ to move on. The rest of them could do that, but he wouldn't forgive himself if he started losing his memories of Eddie. It was all that was left.

  
  


Richie wouldn't know, but the ring on the fireplace would disappear and the third finger on Eddie's left hand would hold a strange glint in the photograph.

Richie wouldn't know, because after he woke from his stupor he went to his bedroom and swallowed three bottles of sleeping pills he'd kept over the years for that exact purpose.


End file.
